Who better to wield a poker at Pink Floyd's pretensions than the band's own guitarist? For his second solo album, David Gilmour brings on the massed hacks of the National Philharmonic Orchestra for one of those sprawling Floydian instrumental buildups that threatens never to go anywhere – and then cuts it off before it does. He calls it "Let's Get Metaphysical" – the perfect dig. Elsewhere, unfortunately, Gilmour lacks such acute focus. He comes up with one terrific cut – "Until We Sleep," which barrels along on a killer synthesizer riff and boasts vocal harmonies straight out of the Notorious Byrd Brothers songbook – and, with Pete Townshend helping out on lyrics, two very Townshendesque romantic ditties, "Love on the Air" and the yowling "All Lovers Are Deranged." But the postfolkish "Murder" veers dangerously close to Gordon Lightfoot territory, and the remaining five tracks lack musical muscle – although "Out of the Blue" and "Cruise" are certainly heartfelt laments about Europe in the shadow of Ronald Reagan's rockets, and "Near the End" is a wry and equally heartfelt lament about aging ("Thinking that we're getting older and wiser/When we're just getting old"). Not bad at all, but–except for Floyd cultists–not essential either. (RS 417)

KURT LODER